Out of Control
by blackdog-lz
Summary: It started as training, but became too real too fast


**Notes:** Huge thanks to my beta faye_dartmouth for the great additions :) Any mistakes you find are mine.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Unfortunately the boys belong to the CBS, else I would have let them continue their adventures.

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><p><strong>Out of Control<strong>

The land around them was mostly gray; only small tufts of grass had managed to push their way through the stones in irregular patches. Sometimes the odd blue bellflower was visible in the green, growing despite the less than optimal conditions this high in the mountains. Far down below, the valley bloomed in deep green of the forests surrounding the range.

They were hiking across the White Cloud Mountains in the Sawtooth National Recreation Area and were at somewhere close to 11,000 feet. Before the day was over, the ODS was scheduled to cross over the Castle Peak.

They were on a six day wilderness trip. Higgins had called it survival training, but Michael was sure that it was just Higgins making sure that the ODS was not in the office while the new Chief of Staff did his tour through the headquarters at Langley.

Michael had no problem with leaving the office while a highly important politician strolled through the hallways since he had no patience for them anyway. But six days out in the wilderness, sleeping in a tent and eating MREs made over a gas stove was pushing it. He missed real coffee and a real bed.

It wasn't even hard to see how the rest of his team was feeling about this impromptu trip. Casey was perpetually scowling, but Michael was pretty sure that the human weapon was seeing this as a way to strengthen his willpower, not that he'd ever let on for fear of accidentally showing gratitude for an order from Higgins.

Billy and Rick seemed to be having fun. Both men, for reasons still unknown to Michael, actually liked the camping, the fire in the evening - complete with camp songs and ghost stories- and the hiking.

If he weren't carrying about 30 pounds of backpack around and if he weren't in the need of a real shower, Michael might have enjoyed it too. A groan escaped him as his foot slipped on some gravel and he just barely managed to not lose his balance. Or it was also possible that he might not have enjoyed it. He was more of a city man, going into the great outdoors only when his job demanded it of him. Hiking up a mountain was not exactly a very gratifying past time for him.

That was mainly, because for Michael, nature was an uncontrolled element, something that he could never fight against. And it made for an annoying foe. It had no rhyme or reason to its plotting, attacking good and bad with equal cruelty and compassion. Michael was more interested in dealing with people and civilizations - the things in life he could spy on and manipulate for the greater good.

All he got out of nature was bug bites and an ominous odor.

And apparently sore muscles. This was the third day of their trip and Michael was starting to feel his leg muscles, which was annoying him to an extent. He knew that, even thought he was fairly fit due to his regular jogging rounds, walking up hills was something different. It didn't help that his three team members seemed to be largely unaffected by the hard work-out. But even he could admit that the view was breathtaking and the fresh air was a nice change from the usual smog of Washington, DC.

"Next part's going to be a bit tricky," Billy said and stopped. He was currently in the lead, a position they changed regularly. That way everyone had a chance to brush up their navigational skills with a map and a compass.

Michael stopped beside him and followed Billy's line of sight. The rock face in front of them was steeper; larger boulders made up the path and there was even less grass growing.

The last part of track to the summit was the going to be the hardest, since it contained several parts were the team would have to climb. Nothing so difficult that it would require equipment, but it would be definitely more exhausting than the normal hiking.

"Then let's go," Casey said and pushed past them. "I'd like to set up camp before it gets dark today."

"C'mon, you can't tell me that you didn't think that was fun," Billy said and followed Malick up the path. "It was adventurous, just like wilderness training should be."

"If I wanted to stumble around in the dark and break my neck, I'd leave the light off in my apartment."

"You have no sense of adventure," Billy practically pouted as both men easily crossed the bigger rocks and quickly scaled the wall.

"I work with you. That is enough sense of adventure," Casey replied and heaved himself up a small cliff. A cliff that Billy crossed easier, simply because his reach was bigger.

Michael watched their bickering from farther down and then let Rick ahead. When the path was relatively straight, he could easily keep up with his teammates, but scaling the rock face was something he'd never done before and it was something he didn't exactly want to do again. Therefore, he was slower than the other three.

Normally, Michael wouldn't want to bring up the rear, but this wasn't a mission. This was superfluous torture guised as a training mission, and Michael had no problem letting someone else do the leading on this one.

The next hour passed by fast as they climbed and walked up the steep incline, slowly making their trek all the way to the top of Castle Peak.

With hardly a cloud in the bright, blue sky, the team had a clear view far into the Rockies on one side and into the Sawtooth valley on the other side. Several lakes were visible from the top and one of them, the Quiet Lake, was glistering down at the foot of Castle Peak. This was going to be their destination for tomorrow.

"Isn't that an awesome view?" Billy asked as he turned once around himself. "Not nearly as good as the Highlands of course but still spectacular all the same."

Rick, beside him, also turned around, drinking in the view with wide open eyes. "We should have done this a lot sooner."

"I don't do wilderness training," Casey said and pulled a chocolate bar from his bag. "And Higgins just wanted us out so that we don't make a bad impression on Mr. High and Mighty Politician."

"Aye, right smart decision of him. Especially after last time," Billy added.

"What happened last time?" Rick asked, clearly interested, since he knew just what kind of mischief the ODS could come up with.

"Let's just say that somehow there was a little fire and the Politician took a free shower," Michael replied, still smiling at the memory.

"But he did need it, he was a bit slimy," Billy said and shared a grin with his boss.

That grin was all that Rick needed to know that the ODS was behind the slimy thing too. And with a bit of luck, he would get the whole story out of them in the evening over the camp fire. Billy liked to tell stories, so it shouldn't be too hard.

"That man had it coming," Casey said. "But could we stop mountain gazing now and start our descent? I'd like to reach the tree line before dark."

"What is with you and the dark today?" Billy asked, waving at Rick to take the lead. "Are you afraid?"

His tone was mocking and Michael could barely suppress a smile. Collins knew exactly which buttons to push to not only annoy them the most, but also to force them to new bests. Right now Michael knew that the constant bickering between the two was partly for his sake. It was a way to distract him. While Michael had never said anything directly, his two oldest friends had immediately picked up that he was out of his element and were now making sure he was at least hearing something familiar.

"I'm not afraid of anything. I merely have a strong dislike against the dark," Casey growled. "You can't see a threat approaching in the dark and therefore can't react in a timely manner."

Casey was following behind Rick and now Billy also waved Michael ahead. Again Michael knew what the Scot was up to. Billy had been in the Royal Marines before he had been recruited to MI-6 and he'd trained in mountaineering. Therefore, he was an experienced climber and staying behind Michael was his way of watching over his boss.

Michael simply nodded in acknowledgment at the move and started to descend behind Rick.

It took Michael a few minutes to get used to used to the feeling of someone watching over him. Usually he liked to be the one in charge, to be the one that did the protecting, but considering how much he didn't like mountain climbing, he was willing to make an exception just this once.

Going down required even more of his attention than climbing up. He didn't quite understand why, but it was easier to find the handholds and footholds while he was ascending. Descending was not only harder on his knees, but it also altered his sense of equilibrium. So Billy behind him gave him a sense of security. Especially when the Scot steadied him after his foot slipped out from under him.

"Easy, choose your own pace," Billy advised and stepped over the same path far more elegantly than Michael ever could.

Again Michael just nodded and mainly kept his eyes on the ground, trying to find his steps and not stumble. Besides, he knew that if he looked up and to his left, he would only see a chasm. A sight that Michael could do without. He wasn't afraid of much, but height got him every time.

The next half hour passed relatively slowly for Michael. He knew that his leg muscles were clenched tight in fear, but the farther down they went, the more he relaxed he got. The chasm to his left also slowly evened out and while it was still steeper than Michael would have liked, it wasn't the harsh drop it had been.

It was just one second of inattentiveness that was his undoing. This time, it was his right foot that slipped on one of the larger rocks. His left hand immediately moved out, trying to find Billy and to use him as an anchor, but the Scot was too close and instead of holding onto him, Michael smashed his elbow into the other man's stomach.

He could hear Billy huff in pain just as his other foot also lost traction. More stones got knocked loose and Michael lost his balance completely.

Billy's hands encircled his upper arms, trying to stop him from falling, but Michael's feet found no grip and his center of balance was off. And then he was falling, backwards and straight into Billy.

One of Billy's feet hit Michael's calf as the Scot too lost his balance. Both men hit the stony ground hard and Michael felt the shock of the impact through Billy's body as he awkwardly landed on Billy.

Uncontrollably, both men slid down on the loose gravel and Michael tried to grab onto something, anything to stop their fall. But he only felt his fingers and nails tear against the stones and they just got faster.

And then his feet lost contact with the ground entirely, and they were in the air for a few seconds before the rest of his body followed.

Michael was helplessly tangled up in Billy and he heard the Scot curse, which sent his heart into an even faster beat. Billy hardly ever cursed and when he did, especially so crudely as he did now, the situation was really FUBAR.

For a short few seconds, Michael was in the air, then he crashed hard into the ground and he felt something in his shoulder give. White, hot pain blinded his senses and then, without any warning, everything went black.

* * *

><p>The pain was there even before he was completely conscious. Burning up his leg and into his hip. Billy groaned, and through the haze, he felt a hand on his shoulder.<p>

He blinked his eyes open and was greeted with a light blue sky and thick, fluffy white clouds that moved fast across the expanse. Then Rick's face swam into view.

"Rick?" Billy asked. He was confused, he had no idea why he was lying on his back and staring at the sky, why his leg was hurting so damned much. His head started to ache the more he thought about what happened and he clenched his eyes shut against the pain. Then, in between one throb of pain and the next, it all came back, Michael stumbling in front of him and trying to stop their fall and failing.

His eyes shot open again and he met Rick's dark brown eyes. "Michael?"

"You need to start talking in complete sentences, unless you want us to think that you suffered brain damage," Casey's dry voice came from somewhere to his right.

Billy rolled his head to that side and saw Casey crouching between him and Michael. Even though his head stopped moving, the world continued to rock for a few more seconds, a fact which Billy chose to ignore for the time being.

"He's still out, got a nasty concussion and his collarbone his broken," Rick answered Billy's unasked question and, as Billy turned his head back to the younger operative, the world came to a stop when he did this time.

"My leg?" Billy asked, his sentences still short as his mind tried to unscramble. A feat that seemed to be far too difficult. Besides the pain, there was also the nagging worry for Michael that made catching a clear thought difficult. But his mind was getting clearer with every passing second, if only to register the pain that spread up from his leg better.

Casey grimaced as he came closer, his hand moving to Billy's ankle and only now did the Scot realize that his foot was shoeless and that the leg of his pants had been cut to somewhere mid-thigh. His knee was badly swollen and his leg was bent at a really weird angle. Nausea rose in Billy at the sight and the pain flared up anew as if seeing the injury made it even more real.

"You dislocated your knee and the pulse in your ankle is getting weaker," Casey said and now it was Billy's turn to grimace.

"That at least explains why my leg is so nicely numb compared to the rest of me." Billy again glanced down at his misshaped leg and then laid his head back down and stared into the sky. "You're going to have relocate it, aren't you?"

"Not yet. We called the emergency services while you were out. They're sending a chopper and it should be here in the next ten minutes," Casey told him and Billy sighted in relief. He could hold out ten more minutes. And he really hoped that the medics had the good drugs with them, no matter how much he normally despised them.

"I already checked the first aid kit; we don't have anything stronger than Tylenol," Rick said, sitting to his left and looking slightly apologetic.

"Figured that," Billy replied with an awkward shrug of his shoulders. "Won't help none, laddie. So keep it for Michael if he wants some."

Billy was trying to be positive, hoping that Michael would wake up before the helicopter would arrive. Even though he knew that their boss was far too still and showed no signs of waking for that to actually happen.

They spent the next minutes in tense silence, with Casey checking on Michael and Billy in regular intervals. And by the tightening of the skin around his eyes, Billy knew that it wasn't looking good for either of them.

Billy couldn't feel anything below his left knee and above that, it was fiery pain that burned its way up his tight and radiated far into his side. He tried to distract himself from the pain and hummed softly under his breath, something he hoped would also calm down the other two.

Then, finally the distant thumping of helicopter blades could be heard and just a few seconds after that, the big red chopper appeared over the ridge.

Even from far away, Billy could see that something was wrong. The helicopter wasn't flying in a normal straight line, but it was rather pushed to the side over and over while the pilot tried to keep the machine on its intended flight path.

And the closer it came, the more obvious this rocking motion became.

"Chinook winds," Billy whispered and watched as the helicopter struggled on.

"How bad is it?" Rick asked, his voice just a bit louder than Billy's.

Billy had pushed himself up on his elbows to watch the helicopter and now he shook his head. "Bad. They've got nowhere to land around here anyway. And letting anybody down with a winch is going to be bloody dangerous. Could smash the guy or the chopper right into the cliff."

Three pair of eyes watched as the helicopter continued to wobble in the air. Then it suddenly lost altitude and dropped several feet before the pilot managed to catch the machine and regain its original height.

A few more seconds and then the helicopter turned away again, leaving the three men on the ground, cursing in unison.

"What are we doing now?" Rick was the first to ask, just as the SAT phone started to chirp.

Billy stared at it for a second, wondering who could call, while Casey grabbed it. "We've given the Ranger's our number, just in case," and with that he picked up the call.

It was a short, mostly one sided conversation and soon Casey was dropping the phone back into the pack in frustration. "The Chinook winds are too strong to try a rescue. They're trying again tomorrow; weather reports state that it should be better then."

Casey again checked on Michael, his face even more closed off than ever, and at Billy's inquiring look, he just shook his head shortly. There still was no reaction from their leader and Billy felt the knot of worry settle deeply in his stomach. Head wounds were tricky and he knew that the longer Michael stayed unconscious, the worse it could be.

And now their rescue was delayed until the next morning, which was at least 15 hours away.

Then Casey's pinched look was leveled at him and Billy hadn't even realized that the other man had checked the pulse in his ankle again.

"How long?" Billy asked, guessing from the look that his pulse must have stopped beating. He tried to remain calm, but still the feeling of dread rose in him.

"It had been barely there when I last checked it. A few minutes at least," Casey said, still hunched by his leg. Their eyes met; they both knew what needed to be done now and both had the same trepidation at having to do it.

"You're going to relocate it now?" Rick asked, eyes moving from Casey to Billy, trying not to linger on the swollen and crooked leg.

"Don't worry lad, Casey knows what to do," Billy said and patted the younger operative's shoulder. "You got something to bite down on?"

Billy watched as Rick fiddled with his belt and at the same time, he tried to breathe as deep as possible, trying to gather strength for what he knew was about to come. The pain was already pretty bad and he knew that it would just get worse.

Finally Rick handed him the belt and Billy took it with a grin and folded it in half. "Hope you won't mind teeth marks as a new decoration on it."

Rick softly shook his head; the younger man was holding up well for now, at least in Billy's eyes, and he hoped that Rick was able to draw confidence from his and Casey's calm demeanor.

"Hold him down and don't let go unless I say so," Casey instructed and crouched down beside the twisted leg. Obediently, Rick pressed down on Billy's shoulders, the rest of his body placed over Billy's chest in an attempt to keep the Scot still.

Billy had placed the belt between his teeth and tasted leather and sweat while his heart sped up in anticipation and fear. He breathed harshly through his nose and pulled his hands into fists.

"You ready?" Casey asked and Billy felt the other man's hands on his leg, one above the knee, the other just underneath.

"Nope," Billy mumbled through the leather and braced himself against the pain. But nothing could have prepared him for the fire that burned through him as Casey wrenched the bones back into place. His scream was barely muffled by the belt and his muscles convulsed involuntarily and he buckled into Rick.

His vision went white and he could hear his shin bone click back into position, but he just wouldn't pass out.

And then, as sudden as the pain came, it ebbed down again. His nerve endings were still tingling, but most of the fire was located around his knee again and he could breathe. His efforts were forced, deep breaths through his nose, but they helped him to further regain his sense of here and now.

Rick's weight disappeared from his chest and he felt Casey trying to half-way stabilize his leg with whatever they had.

It still took him another few minutes until he was coherent again, until his mind registered anything else but pain and the need to breathe.

"You with us again?" Casey asked. He had changed position and was now sitting between Billy and Michael again. Rick wasn't in his line of sight, but Billy heard the sounds of retching from farther away.

"Wish I wasn't," Billy replied. "The laddie okay?"

"He's regurgitating his lunch, but otherwise he's fine."

"And Michael?" Billy continued his questioning, even more worried about their fearless leader now that his own injury was treated and cared for as best as possible. And it was more apparent to him now than ever that Michael should have at least shown some signs of waking.

Casey shook his head, worry visible in the tightening of his eyes. Billy answered with a clenching of his jaw.

"We're going to need a shelter for the night," Rick said as he walked back into camp. His voice was still a bit rough from the vomiting and he took a deep swallow from their water once he had settled down.

Casey nodded. "I'll set up one of the tents; it's going to be tight tonight, but it's going to be hard enough anchoring one tent down in this ground."

"And it's going to get cold too; we don't have anything to start a fire with;" Billy reminded them. While it was still fairly warm for September, the nights were already rather cold, especially at heights like this. The past two nights they had camped farther down and had lit a small fire that had smoldered through the night, but now that wasn't possible.

The tents they had with them were standard two men tents; Billy could just barely lay down in them. So it was going to get more than tight with four of them in one tent, but it was just for one night and Billy understood Casey's reluctance to separate them.

After already having two nights experience in setting up the tent, Casey easily had it standing within the next five minutes. The only complication was to force the pegs into the hard stony ground. But Casey was nothing but inventive and with the help of their little pan, he drove the aluminum nails as deep into the ground as he was able to.

Together with Rick, he rolled Michael onto his sleeping bag and pulled him into the tent. Dorset still didn't stir and for the first time since he awoke, Billy was able to see the large bandage that had been wrapped around the other man's head. Red blood had stained through the white material on one side and Billy needed to swallow hard against the upcoming worry.

He knew that head wounds always bled a lot and that by the look of things, it had stopped sometime ago, but Michael was a friend and he always hated to see a friend hurt. And beside the worry, something else settle in his gut: guilt.

He had suggested to take the track over Castle Peak and he should have intervened, told them to turn around, once he realized that Michael was not as confident in the via ferrata as was the rest of the team. So it was technically his fault that Michael had fallen, especially since he had failed to steady Michael when the man had slipped.

"If you weren't concussed, I would hit you," Casey's voice slipped into his thoughts and Billy refocused his stare on the older operative sitting beside him. He had been so deep in thought that he hadn't even heard Casey approaching, much less heard the unpacking of his sleeping bag and Casey settling down next to him.

"It's not your fault. We all agreed to take this route, it was just plain dumb luck."

"Aye, and my brain knows this, my stomach not so much," Billy replied with an apoplectic smirk.

"Your stomach's upset because of your concussion. Rick's going to make a nice soup and you'll feel better."

At this, Billy pulled a face. "I'd rather not have one of Rick's soups. I've finally understood why his mother's always brown bagging his lunch."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rick asked as he crawled out of the tent.

"Well, with all due respect," Billy started, but then stopped himself, shook his head and continued anew. "With no respect at all, lad, your cooking should be considered hazardous."

"The CDC should deal with it; not us," Casey added as he spread the sleeping bag out beside Billy.

Rick looked like he was going to pout for a second at having his culinary skills criticized, but then he shrugged and stepped over to help Casey. The kid was slowly getting used to the near constant hazing from his team mates and it wasn't like they weren't hazing each other too.

"This is going to hurt," Billy stated as he wearily eyed the sleeping bag.

"Most likely," came Casey's less than reassuring reply.

Again Billy braced himself for the pain he knew that was going to come, taking deep breaths and hoping that it was enough. It wasn't.

Casey and Rick tried to be gentle, but his left leg wasn't moving the way it should and Rick had to lift it to get it onto the bag. That jostling sent a spike of pain right up his leg and into his brain and again the world turned white. But this time Billy didn't fight it, he let the white take over and turn into black as he finally, mercifully passed out.

* * *

><p>Part Two<p>

"Of course the stubborn git chooses now to pass out," Casey cursed as Billy went limp in his arms.

It had been a long time coming, really, but Casey would have felt better if the Scot had passed out during the relocation and not during the transport into the tent. It would have spared Billy a lot of pain, but, like most of the time, he was more stubborn than a mule and rather took the hard way than the easy way.

It was not as small as he thought it would be in the tent; it had been, after all, large enough for Billy, Michael and their two backpacks. Now that they'd left the packs outside, the area seemed much more spacious. Still Casey was, for once, grateful for his shorter statue.

He again took up position between his injured team members. Billy was doing relatively okay. The knee and leg would require surgery and a good long while of physiotherapy until it was anywhere near fine again, but he would recover.

Casey wasn't so sure about Michael right now. He was checking and re-checking Michael's pupils, noting every change. At first, they had just reacted sluggishly, clear signs of a bad concussion, which had been obvious with the heavily bleeding head wound. But as the time had passed, his right pupil had gotten larger, while his left had stayed the same. That was a clear sign that Michael's brain was starting to swell and if they were really unlucky, he was also bleeding into his brain.

A shudder moved up his spine as Casey remembered Michael and Billy falling. He had heard stones shifting as feet had slipped on them and had looked up to see if everything was alright. He had been just in time to see Michael and Billy drop over the edge and tumble down the incline.

It was a sight Casey wouldn't so soon forget.

With Rick close behind, he'd raced down the mountain as fast as he could and when he had finally reached his friends, fear had started to rise in him, unwelcome and threatening to overtake him.

Both had been still, Michael bleeding heavily from the head wound and Billy's foot pointing in a direction it normally wasn't supposed to.

Casey took a deep breath and tried to center himself. It wouldn't do him any good to linger on the past. Right now, he had to focus on how to get them through next 11 hours.

But even with that time set firmly in his mind, Casey knew that there actually wasn't much he could do. Billy's leg had been treated and immobilized; Casey only needed to check for possible bleeding and the pulse in his ankle. Maybe test the movement of the foot, once the Scot woke up.

There was even less he could do for Michael, no matter how much he wanted to help. He could just sit and wait and hope that nothing would take a turn for the worse. Which of course, considering the luck they usually had, was a probably inevitable.

Billy didn't stay unconscious for very long and Casey wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Because after Collins had recovered from the pain of trying – luckily successfully – to move his left foot, his mouth was running.

Casey knew that it was Billy's way of dealing with the pain, of dealing with the stress and the worry of the situation, but still it was slightly annoying. No matter how long he worked with Billy, Casey didn't think he could ever get used to the incessant chatter. Although he was fairly good at tuning it out.

Right now, he was just listening with one ear as Billy told the story of how the ODS managed to soak the last chief of staff who had toured through headquarters. Even Casey had to admit that it was a good story, made better by Collins' ability to spin the yarn and Rick was eating it all up.

The other ear was directed toward Michael, hoping to catch when their leader started to move. And it had to be a when, not an if.

Billy was just starting on the part with the fire alarm, when Casey heard the faint rustling of flesh against fabric. He looked over at Michael - the last time he had checked Dorset, the left eye was still blown, but not as bad as it could have been and both pupils had still reacted. But now this first movement was stirring up some hope in Casey.

Michael's hand was twitching - stiff, uncontrolled movements against the waterproofed material of the sleeping bag. Something wasn't quite right. The twitching slowly encompassed the whole arm and just as Casey realized what exactly was happening, Michael started to convulse in earnest.

There was absolutely nothing that Casey could do except to watch and count the seconds. But the helplessness was eating him alive. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that Billy had stopped talking, that he, together with Rick, was most likely staring just as helplessly.

His internal count reached 40 seconds and finally, mercifully the convulsion slowed down until finally at 50 seconds they stopped altogether. Now Casey forced himself to move. With hands that shook more than he wanted to admit, he checked Michael's pulse. It was still there, it was still beating regular, if a bit slow against the tip of his fingers.

A sigh escaped him, the only outward sign that he was relieved, that he had been bothered at all by the episode he had just witnessed. Casey turned Michael on his right side, moved the body of his friend into the recovery position should he start to vomit after the seizure. But for the time being, it seemed like they were safe.

Michael's broken collarbone luckily was on his left side and while that arm had flopped lifelessly to the ground, he was, at least, not lying on it.

Casey continued to stare at Michael for a few more seconds, making sure that his face was calm, emotionless. His teammates were counting on him. Slowly he turned back around to face Billy and Rick, the former had lifted himself up to his elbows, face pale and pinched with pain, while the latter was staring with fear-filled eyes at Michael's again still form.

"He' still alive, but he needs a hospital now." Pulling his anger around him like a cloak, Casey crawled out of the tent and nearly ripped his backpack apart to get to the SAT phone. He hadn't exactly thought about what he was going to do. That was Michael's job, thinking about things, making plans. Casey was more used to thinking with his gut, to going with his instincts and that was what he was doing now.

The phone on the other end of the line was picked up and Casey didn't even wait for the man to say anything, he just hissed into the receiver, voice deep and threatening, "You get that helicopter up here now. Or I swear that I won't be held responsible for my actions and you don't want that ever." The last word was more of a growl than a word, but it seemed to have an effect.

He knew that he couldn't change the weather with his threats, but the least the Rangers and the air ambulance could do was try again. Because Casey just couldn't sit by and watch his boss die.

The man on the other end of the line stuttered and asked in a timid voice what had happened. Casey answered him in the same low tone he had used just seconds before and again it seemed to work.

Casey was assured that the helicopter would start again and that it should be with them in fifteen minutes. But he shouldn't get his hopes up - they would not risk the crew if the conditions were still precarious.

It was at least something and as Casey turned around, he saw that Rick had followed him out and was now watching him closely. The younger operative didn't need to ask, Casey could read the question in his eyes.

"They're trying it again with a smaller helicopter. But they'll only be able to transport Michael."

"That's at least something, isn't it? And they can always leave us some morphine for Billy," Rick replied, relief not only visible in his voice, but also in his eyes. Casey was sure that his eyes were reflecting that as well.

That moment of reprieve was violently interrupted.

"Casey!" Billy yelled from within the tent, his voice rough and full of fear. The tone burned itself into Casey's mind and he was sure that he would wake up with that yell reverberating in his head for a while to come.

He slipped back into the tent, even before Rick, and saw that Michael was convulsing again. Billy had moved closer, fear and pain reflected clearly on his face.

And all Casey could do was curse as he watched the seizure run its course.

"45 seconds," Billy said, once Michael had stopped trembling. It was shorter than the first one, which was in itself a good thing, but this close to the first one was far from good and just as Casey was sitting down, Michael started to vomit.

It wasn't the strong heaving of the conscious, but rather a slow dribble. Billy cursed under his breath in a language that Casey didn't understand, but could recognize as Gaelic.

They did all they could, which again wasn't much, adding to Casey's rising frustration level. Soon Michael was again resting on his side, face tinged gray in the bad light inside the tent.

Rick helped Billy back onto his sleeping bag. His leg had been stabilized by the improvised splint made of rods from the second tent, but the splint wasn't very strong. Billy's sudden movement earlier had twisted the leg again, and while the adrenaline had kept the pain at bay for the first few minutes, now Collins was clearly suffering.

But when Casey had told him that a helicopter was coming for Michael, the Scot had smiled. It didn't much matter to him that he would have to suffer through the night as long as his friend was safe. And that was a trait Casey had always admired in Billy, but it was a trait that everyone in the ODS shared. The other was always more important than oneself.

The next fifteen minutes were tense and passed in silence. When the sound of an approaching helicopter broke through the silence, Casey got up.

"You stay here and keep an eye on them," he told Rick on his way out.

The helicopter was flying more steadily than the last time. Which was probably because this time they had chosen a smaller model. The flight, however, was still not very smooth and Casey just hoped that it would be steady enough.

Casey refused to wave with his arms to alert the pilot to his presence. The other man knew their position and must have seen the tent, so Casey was not going to ridicule himself like that.

And this time they seemed to be in luck. The helicopter hovered halfway still over their improvised campsite and Casey could feel the downward draft of the blades and could see the ripples it caused in the tent's material.

The side door of the helicopter opened and a white helmet became visible. A short time later, that helmet became a person and a stretcher, and the two were lowered down on the helicopter's winch.

Both swung widely with the wind, but they were getting closer to succeeding with every passed foot.

While Casey refrained from waving like an idiot at the helicopter, he did grab the medic's foot and leg to stabilize him on his last few feet down.

Then the stretcher and the man were freed from the rope and quickly made their way into the tent. Inside, it was even more gloomy, the slowly sinking sun taking away the daylight and throwing the mountains into deep shadows.

The medic was professional and fast and, by the time Casey opened the tent flap, Michael was on the stretcher, oxygen mask over his face, neck immobilized in a brace.

He also left them a proper splint for Billy's leg and another shot of morphine, after he injected a first dose.

Casey helped to carry the stretcher out, feeling the reassuring weight in his hands. He was relieved to finally able to do something to help. But he was soon robbed of that feeling by the medic as he was delegated to watch as the medic disappeared with Michael inside the helicopter.

But as the sun painted the surrounding mountains deep red, Casey at least knew that Michael was on his way to real, professional help. That was all that mattered. Still, it didn't take away the uncertainty and it left Casey wondering if that had been the last time he would see Michael alive.

With the approaching night, and the mountains already darkening, the helicopter would not be returning to get Billy out too. It would be too dangerous to fly and attempted a second rescue in the dark. That was worrying Casey to some extent, because 10 hours or so, even with another shot of morphine, was a long time. And there still was the probability of more complications emerging.

Staring at the sun as it slowly disappeared behind the mountain range, Casey took a deep breath and hoped that maybe this time they would be lucky. Although the realist in him mocked that positivity.

* * *

><p>Billy was as high as a kite, which was as scary as it was funny. But at least it would make it easier for them to remove the old makeshift splint with the medical one. Because that was going to hurt and if Rick had ever been sure of something, it was that.<p>

"You good?" Casey asked as he settled down beside Billy's left leg while Rick sat down on Michael's abandoned sleeping bag. Changing the splint was a one person job and Casey was, in any case of emergency, their medic.

A dopey grin appeared on Billy's face. "Cottony."

"I'll take that as a yes," Casey replied and Rick watched as he set about loosening the original splint.

Even with the painkillers coursing through his system, Billy soon was sweating and the pinched look reappeared on his face as Casey jostled the leg. Rick placed his hand on Billy's shoulder as a silent sign of support, wishing that he could do more.

A hefty curse made Rick look up and he saw that the muscles in Casey's jaw were clenched tight. Rick wondered for a second what had caused that outburst, but the second he set eyes on Billy's leg, he understood why Casey was so tense. Rick had expected the bruising to be extensive on the leg, no broken or dislocated bone came without it, but when he saw the deep purple that spread from the knee down into the calf, he followed Casey example and cursed.

A tousled, dark head looked up. "What? I don't like it when you curse, especially not when it's about my leg," Billy's voice was clearer now; the pain seemed to have outbalanced the effects of the morphine.

"You're bleeding inside your leg, I think I have a right to curse," Casey remarked calmly and Rick wished, not for the first time, that he could be equally composed.

Billy's head fell back against the ground with a soft thud. "Not much we can do about it now, is there?"

"What about compartment syndrome?" Rick asked. His last first aid course was more than half a year ago, but he still knew the basics and he also still knew what could happen to a leg or an arm if the tissue started to swell too badly.

"Possible. And if that happens, we're going to have to relief the pressure," Casey replied. Rick saw him taking a deep breath and he was sure that he older operative was also hoping that it really wouldn't come to that.

"Try moving your foot again," Casey instructed.

A muted groan came from Billy and the foot moved slowly first left, then right. Rick could see that the range of movement wasn't great, but at least Billy was moving it under his own steam. He watched as Casey again felt for the pulse in the ankle.

"Looks good for now," he told Billy and Rick. "We'll keep it elevated and continue to check it." With that, Casey shortly slipped out of the tent to retrieve one of the backpacks and used it to lift Billy's leg up.

The next few hours passed silently. Billy slept on and off, coming off the morphine high and sleeping the pain away. Casey had cooked them an easy meal, refusing to let Rick do it. The young operative had been banned from the cooker after his first disastrous attempt the first night. Together, they forced some of the soup down Billy and they checked his ankle pulse and movement of the leg again, only to realize that both got weaker, the more time passed.

Billy was getting less and less lucid as the hours went by. Whether it was the blood loss or the pain, Rick wasn't sure. All he was sure of was that Casey couldn't find the pulse in Billy's foot again and that the Scot couldn't move his foot at all. The bruising had spread even farther, nearly reaching the ankle now, and the leg was so badly swollen, it was hardly recognizable.

For all the bickering and the threatening to hurt Billy - or anyone else of the team - Rick was sure that Casey didn't actually want to hurt any of them. The trepidation was clear in Casey's eyes at the thought of actually cutting Billy open and Rick was relieved that he wouldn't have to decompress the leg. But if Billy wanted to not lose any feeling in the leg, or worse yet, the complete leg, they needed to act.

"Billy," Casey said after he checked the bruise pattern and waited until he had the other man's attention. "We're going to have to decompress."

"That'll give Rick's belt at least a matching set of death marks," Billy said with a mock cheerfulness and Rick felt his stomach clench at the thought. He'd already planned to throw the belt away anyway. But he could have done without using it a second time. Then he remembered the second dose of morphine the medic had left them and sighed in relief.

"You forget that this time we've got morphine," Rick said and slowly waved the capped syringe, after he had unearthed it.

"The wonders of modern medicine just saved your belt from further damage," Billy replied and a real smile accompanied this statement.

"Then give me your arm, so I can inject the wonders of medicine," Rick said in the same fake happy tone Billy had used earlier and took the offered arm.

He quickly administered the pain medication and soon Billy was blinking lazily at the tent's ceiling.

It was a good thing that Casey was going to do the fasciotomy, since Rick's hands were shaking badly by now. He watched closely as Casey steeled himself for a second and then, with the knife held tightly in his right hand and the left holding Billy's leg down just above the knee, he cut into the soft flesh.

The cut Casey made was deep and long. Blood immediately welled up and flowed freely, while Billy's leg buckled softly against his grip, but for now it seemed like the morphine was doing its job.

There was not much either of them could do about the bleeding, since it was actually helping to reduce the pressure on the muscles and nerves, other than placing a sterile gauze over the cut. But Casey had checked for the pulse in Billy's ankle and it was back and the swelling was already going down.

"Do I have a hole in my leg now?" Billy asked and struggled to lift his head.

"Yes. And I'll sew my initials in it too, if you don't stay down," Casey replied and pushed Billy back down.

"Then I'll have a permanent reminder of you. That'd be sweet."

"That'd be the drugs talking," Casey said, surly, but Rick realized that he hadn't yet removed his hand from Billy's shoulder.

Billy just continued to smile crookedly at them. Besides, even Rick knew Casey well enough by now to know some of his gruff exterior was a façade to hide his worry.

* * *

><p>The night passed by far too slowly in Rick's opinion. He had dozed on and off during the night, but couldn't really sleep. And he was sure that Casey hadn't even drowsed. It was a mix between worry for Michael, concern for Billy and adrenaline that had kept them awake. Besides, someone always needed to keep an eye on their wounded team member, especially since Billy's conditioned had worsened throughout the night.<p>

Rick wasn't sure if it was because of the morphine or the continued blood loss from the cut, but Billy's breathing was getting labored and shallower, while a sheen of sweat glistered on his too pale face.

The piece of gauze over the cut had long ago been saturated and Casey had simply placed fresh ones over the old ones. But even the newest bandage was already dripping blood and they were running out of gauze.

Finally the light inside the tent started to change: from the dark blue of the night to the faint orange colors of the early morning.

Rick sighed in relief - hopefully this whole nightmare would be over soon. Tiredly, he watched as Casey kneeled forward to place a hand on Billy's cheek in order to wake him up. It was strange to see Casey so tactile, especially since he knew that the older operative usually avoided touching if he could.

Tired eyes blinked open as Casey carefully woke Billy up and even in the half-light of the morning, Rick could see that Billy's pupils were blown wide with pain.

"Dawn's breaking. We should be able to get out of here soon," Casey said.

"Good news then," Billy replied tiredly, accent more prominent and words slurred. It was good that their stay was soon over, because Rick wasn't sure how much longer Billy could hold out and that thought alone made fear rise in his stomach.

"Definitely," Rick smiled and tried to be positive. Usually that was Billy's role, but Rick thought that maybe he could share some of the burden of seeing things in a more optimistic way. At least until Billy had the strength to do it himself.

The sound of an helicopter approaching cut through the morning's silence and Rick squeezed Billy's shoulder. "We're going home."

* * *

><p>No matter which hospital he woke up in – and Billy had woken up in a lot of different hospitals – they all smelled the same.<p>

The sharp tang of disinfectant and starch was the common factor and the more Billy smelled it, the less he liked it.

So his first reaction upon realizing that he again was in an hospital, was to refuse to open his eyes. True to the maxim that what you don't see was not there. It was a ridiculous and childish thought, but Billy just didn't care. His legs felt oddly numb and he could feel the after effects of anesthesia throbbing through him.

"I know you're awake," Casey's voice broke the silence. "Your heartbeat is giving you away."

"Bugger," Billy murmured in reply, but he did open his eyes.

He was greeted by a less than beautiful sight.

His left leg was swathed in bandages and where it wasn't white, his skin was tinged orange from the iodine. Metal screws were protruding from the flesh of his leg and were connected with a complicated looking traction.

Looking at the modern torture device, Billy suddenly was glad that he didn't feel his lower body, even though it was a scary experience to see your legs and not feel them.

"That does not look good," Billy said to more to himself than to Casey, but the other man replied nonetheless.

"The alternative is worse," Casey stated and Billy immediately believed him. And he really didn't need to know just how bad it could have been either. Sometimes it was better to not know everything.

Billy tore his gaze away from the traction and focused on Casey.

The older operative sat in a chair between Billy's bed and Michael's. And once Billy saw their boss, he ignored Casey's grumpy appearance in favor for Michael's.

Dorset looked better than he did on the mountain, which didn't say much. He was still pale, made worse by the bandage that was wrapped around his head.

Wires and tubes were leading to and from Michael's body, and Billy's nose gave a sympatric twitch when he saw the tube that had been placed down Michael's nose.

His left arm was placed in a sling and tied to his upper body, to ensure that he wouldn't jostle the broken collarbone.

"What about Michael?" Billy asked, his eyes never leaving the still form on the other side of the room. He still felt vaguely guilty about what had happened and he knew that the gnawing feeling would only disappear, once he knew that Michael was going to be fine.

"Don't you want to know your own prognosis?" Casey asked in return. Billy just lifted his eyebrow and stared back. With most people words worked extremely well to manipulate them into doing what he wanted, with Casey simple expressions were far more helpful.

Casey sighed in defeat. "It was a small bleed on the right side of his brain, a subdural hematoma. Doc's removed it and they say that he's supposed to make a full recovery. He may have some amnesia. They'll know more once Dorset wakes up, which should be sometime tomorrow."

Billy immediately felt relieved. Michael was going to be oaky and with a bit of luck he'd also be the only one who wouldn't remember their misadventure.

"He's probably going to be out before you," Casey added. "You made a nice mess of your leg. It's been set with a couple of screws and nearly all the sinews in your knee had to be stitched together. One of your arteries received the same treatment."

Billy swallowed, that was lot of work done on one measly knee and he was sure that he was going to suffer through months of physiotherapy. He just hoped that his physiotherapist was going to be a little cute thing and not a battle axe.

"Could be worse right?" Billy asked cheerily.

Casey's face in turn turned darker. "You were lucky. Both of you. But I'm pretty sure that Higgins won't send us out to survival training anytime soon."

"Not that we could," Billy shrugged. "Where's Ricky?"

"Hotel. To catch up on his sleep."

"You should go too. I'm pretty sure that Michael and me are the ones who slept most," Billy replied.

Casey looked tired and exhausted, the past days were catching up on him, and he probably needed a real bed urgently. Especially since they were going to need all the strength they had to make sure that Michael would stay in bed and recover.

Casey nodded and that really surprised Billy. He had expected to fight that point harder, Malick must be even more tired than he looked.

"We'll come by in the morning," Casey said as he got up. He lazy stretched and Billy heard joints popping in protest.

If they had been in any other situation, Billy would have tried to wind Casey up by telling him what an old man he was becoming. But now was not the time, especially not after everything Casey and Rick had done for him and Michael.

"See you in the morning, then," Billy replied and gave a little wave, which Casey snorted at.

"He better be awake and not annoyed when we get back." Casey pointed at Michael and left the room, barely suppressing a yawn as he did so.

Billy grinned at the closed door and then tried to get comfortable. Considering that he had two numb legs that was not very much. But thanks to the drugs still coursing through his system, he fell asleep.

* * *

><p>There was something stuck in his nose. It was itchy and smelled like plastic and disinfectant. Not even bothering to open his eyes just yet, Michael reached up to touch whatever was shoved in there. His left arm wasn't moving, even though he tried it a few times before he remembered that he still had a right hand.<p>

"I wouldn't touch that if I were you. That thing goes straight into your stomach and keeps you from puking," a Scottish accented voice drifted into his thoughts.

His mind immediately went into overdrive, despite the constant dull throbbing. Michael knew that voice was from somewhere. It was not threatening and considering that he was lying on something soft, he could guess that he wasn't in a hostile situation. It took him another few seconds to remember just who of his friends had a Scottish accent: Billy.

With a groan, Michael opened his eyes and stared at an off-white ceiling illuminated by a dim, artificial light. There was something equipment-like visible in the corner of his eyes, but he had no notion to check it out. Because now he knew where he was and while it wasn't exactly his favorite place to wake up in, it wasn't hostile at all.

"Took you long enough," Billy said from his right side and Michael turned his head in that direction. He had expected Billy to be sitting in one of the chairs beside his bed, so it took him another second or to two realize that he was lying in the other bed.

Billy's leg was elevated and stuck in a horrible looking metallic traction. Some of the nails were protruding from the leg, while other parts were wrapped up with bandages stained in iodine.

"That looks ugly," was the only half way intelligent thing his hurting brain came up with. Not that it seemed to bother Billy.

"It looks even uglier from my perspective, but it's not like you're the beauty to my beast," he returned.

"Did you just call me a girl?" Michael asked, aware that their topic of conversation was anything but normal, but then, what was normal for them. And bickering with Billy felt familiar and safe.

"Well you are wearing a skirt."

Michael looked down and realized that while it wasn't exactly a skirt he was wearing, it was one of the hospital gowns with a truly atrocious pattern. He couldn't quite suppress a groan and if anyone asked him, it was because of the pain that steadily pulsed in his head.

"What happened?" he finally dared to ask.

"A little tumble down a hillside. You had a wee bit of a bleed in your head, but the doctors fixed you right up," Billy replied and although Michael knew that Billy was leaving a few, probably crucial, parts out, for now it was enough. He could deal with the rest later when he was feeling better.

"What about you and your new shiny accessory?" He vaguely waved at the traction.

Billy grimaced and tried to not stare at the mess. "Dislocated my knee. The shin bone's broken, but it could've been worse."

Again Michael had the feeling that Billy was not telling him everything, but he was sure that he could weasel the whole truth from Rick later. Which immediately left him wondering just where the rest of his team was.

"Casey and Rick should, hopefully, be sleeping," Billy replied, without Michael posing a question. Apparently his expression must have given his thoughts away. "Which you should be doing too," the Scot continued. "But I could always call the nurses to tell them that you're awake."

Michael cringed at that option. Getting prodded by nurses in the middle of the night - as it seemed to be, since the world outside the window was dark - was not something he was looking forward to. Besides, he felt fine for the time being, just a bit of a headache and tired, but alive and that was all that counted.

"Don't you even dare," Michael growled, probably not as threateningly as he hoped, since Billy chuckled.

"Never would I dare to annoy our fearless leader." It was a bald-face lie, since Billy liked nothing better than annoying him and everyone else for that matter, but Michael knew that there would be no nurses or doctors for the moment.

"Good and you better remember that." Again the threatening part seemed to fall through, because he could see Billy grinning at him and throwing him a mock salute.

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Michael choose not to reply, but instead wiggled on the rather comfortable hospital bed and tried to ignore the tube down his nose.

As he stared at the ceiling Michael figured that at least Higgins had been right, the wilderness training had been useful.

Through everything that had happened, before and after the accident, their bond had gotten even tighter. And Michael was again reminded of the fact that his team would always be there for him, would always stick together no matter what life threw at them. And that was an even better lesson than Higgins' could ever hope for.

With a sigh he closed his eyes. "Night, Billy."

"Night, Michael."

The End


End file.
